Solace
by Succi
Summary: Sherlock hears Molly say life was easier without him, so he tries to keep his distance. But did she really mean it like that, and can Sherlock manage to stay away from her - his solace? Set during HLV.


**Solace**

A/N: This is set during HIS LAST VOW. The first part takes place in the hospital after Sherlock is shot. The second part is set somewhere after he's been released from hospital (the second time) and before Christmas. Since I have no idea how much time passes between Sherlock being shot and Christmas I made up a time frame. If you know the correct amount of time, please let me know. I'd be happy to change it and get it right.

This is my first Fanfiction EVER. I had no intention of writing or even posting this, but since I lost a bet… here it is.

Tom: I hope you're happy now!

Still, I hope you enjoy it and I'd love to know what you think. English is not my native tongue, so please bear with me! No Beta, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. I don't own them so please don't sue.

* * *

Sherlocks POV

There was a bleeping noise. There was some pain, but not much. My body was more numb than aching. Morphine, I deduced. There was also a voice in the background – a familiar one. And then there was a hand holding onto mine, gently rubbing it's thumb over the back of it. It felt weird, but… good… smoothing. That must be the morphine too.

I couldn't open my eyes. The eyelids felt so heavy. So I concentrated on the sweet voice of Molly Hooper. She was sitting next to me in the sterile hospital room. Through the fog of the drugs it was hard to make out the actual words she was saying, but after several minutes her voice rang to me clear as a bell. She wasn't aware that I was awake and I didn't want her to be. I knew she'd speak more freely that way. Furthermore I was sure she'd tell me how pissed she still was at me for doing drugs again. Maybe she would even slap me again. I still couldn't quite believe she'd really done that. It had hurt. For a small woman, she had a lot of strength.

Without knowing I could hear her, she spoke without stammering, "You couldn't just leave that way, Sherlock. Imagine you would've died… I …" Her voice broke and she took a shaking breath. She was crying. Something in my chest constricted and as much as I wanted to deny it, I knew it had nothing to do with my bullet wound. Her grip on my hand tightened and I had to force myself not to squeeze her hand in reassurance. What was the matter with me?!

As her fingers interlaced with mine, I was once again reminded that her engagement ring was gone. Although I'd said it to humiliate her, I'd meant it: I was glad for the lack of the ring. Tom was stupid and dull. Molly was far too clever for him.

I could hear rustling of clothes. I knew she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She spoke again, "The last thing I did was slap you. Imagine how I'd felt if you died… I mean, you deserved it, but still… I mean… you deserved the slap, not the dying." Even now she was rambling. It was somehow endearing. She drew a calming breath and withdrew her hand from mine. I felt an irrational pang of loss. "You know…," she started again and suddenly I felt her hand on my face, her fingers tracing my cheekbone. My skin tingled under her touch. Must have been the drugs as well… What other explanation could there have been? "… my life was so much easier while you were gone." I almost opened my eyes in shock to her words. They hurt me more than any slap she'd given me. Did she really think that? What about her infatuation with me? Why was she still caressing my face while her voice sounded so sad? Did she want me to be gone? But she'd cried because she thought I would die… My head was swimming.

Suddenly I heard the door open. Molly snapped her hand away. The chair was pulled back – she stood up. "Oh hi!" she squeaked. "Hello," answered a cold voice – Janine. Not so good… I've got to admit I was glad I faked to be asleep. Nothing more was said between the two women. I heard Molly exciting and felt that pang in my chest again. It seemed like the painkillers didn't help with that kind of pain.

* * *

**2 months later**

"You've been reading it three times now. You never read anything more than once. Why don't you just go over to Bart's and ask her?" John Watson was starting to get frustrated with his former flat mate. Not that that was an uncommon occurrence with Sherlock Holmes – rather quite the contrary – but this time John couldn't fathom why Sherlock was behaving the way he did. Sherlock was sure that the solution to the Blake case had something to do with the substance that was found in the victim's saliva. Sherlock had told John that Molly had written a paper on coagulation of saliva after death and mentioned a substance quite similar to the one they were dealing with. So Sherlock was scanning through Mollys article looking for something that might help the case, but couldn't find anything.

"I remember you doing an experiment about something like that yourself. So, shouldn't you know about the substance we are looking for?" Sherlocks stare war deadly. "I couldn't finish my experiment, because SOMEONE told me it was unhygienic to store a head in a fridge." He turned away from John and focused on the paper again.

Suddenly realization dawned on the army doctor. "Sherlock, when was the last time you've been to Bart's?" Sherlocks answer was to push back the chair he had been sitting on and to begin to pace the room; an obvious sign for John that he was on the right track. So he decided to push his luck a little further, "Do you avoid Molly?"  
"And why would I do that?" was his annoyed question. He did not look at his friend. John cleared his throat. He wasn't really sure how to phrase the next question so he decided to be blunt about it. He couldn't beat the Consulting Detective in his bluntness, could he? "Sherlock, are you afraid of Molly?" That brought Sherlock to a halt. "Don't be ridiculous, John! Why should I be afraid of Molly Hooper?" John cleared his throat again, "Because, you know… she slapped you… more than once." Sherlocks jaw tensed and his intense gaze focused on John. "That's absurd! I just don't want to bother her at this late hour."  
"Since when?" John couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The Consulting Detective sighed, "You're a doctor, so you could tell me about the saliva." It didn't go amiss with John that Sherlock was stalling. "I am an army doctor, not an expert on post mortems! But I know a petite pathologist who is." Sherlocks voice was louder than he intended, "I am NOT avoiding St. Bartholomew's!"  
"Well, then prove me wrong, mate."

* * *

It had been months since Molly Hooper had last talked to him – and that had been a kind of one sided conversation, because he had been asleep on a hospital bed. He had looked so pale, even paler than usual. He would have nearly died – for real this time. Even at the mere thought her heart clenched.

She hadn't visited him again because there had come this woman so see him – Janine the bridesmaid, whose beauty he was unaware of. At least that was what he had said at the wedding. In the light of the hospital room things had seem rather different. She had felt like mousy, naïve Molly Hooper all over again. And she had decided she didn't want to feel like that ever again in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.

Then he had fled the hospital and promptly had been wheeled back in unconscious on a gurney. Of course she had stayed with him the whole night time. That night John had told her the truth about Janine and how Sherlock had used her. Yes, it was without a doubt cruel what he had done, but Molly couldn't help but feel relieved. On one point she had to agree with Sherlock Holmes: Feelings were irrational.

Now he had been released and she hadn't seen him since. Not once had he come to visit Bart's; not for experiments, not for body parts. It almost felt like he was avoiding the place. Or was he avoiding HER?

Yes, she still was mad at him for taking drugs and trying to make her uncomfortable about the end of her engagement. But still, she wanted to see him. She missed him. It almost felt like the time when he had been supposedly dead. Yes, it had been so much easier back then. She could easily pretend to be happy with Tom as long as the brooding Consulting Detective with his curls and his Belstaff wasn't part of her life. Out of sight, out of mind. At least that's what she'd told herself. Now everything was so complicated. Yet still, she was glad to have him back. It was like she had said: Sociopaths were just her type.

Like on cue the swing door to the morgue opened and in strode Sherlock Holmes in all his glory. Through the glass window she could see John passing by. Maybe he was making his way to the canteen to get some coffee.

The pathologist tried to appear busy as she scribbled something on the report. Sherlock was standing next to the door, as if he wanted to assure a fast exit if needed. "Hello Sherlock." She forced herself not to look up from her report. His voice was as indifferent as ever, "You need to help us with a case. It won't take long." She put the pen down, stood up and approached him, her eyes still not meeting his. "Since when do you care about how much of my time one of your cases takes up?" Coming to a halt at a safe distance (Just far enough away not to be distracted by his scent or his presence. But let's be honest, she was distracted by him as soon as he entered the same room.) she finally looked into his face. His jaw was tense and his eyes flicker over her briefly. He seemed to avoid her gaze.

Naturally he ignored her question, walked past her to one of the tables and laid some sheets of paper on its surface. "I need you to explain to me the exact effect on saliva of the substance you've mentioned in your paper. I need to know what it is, how long it can be traced in the saliva and everything else you think could be important for the Blake case." He was looking down on the sheets. Hesitantly Molly came to stand beside him and looked down on as well. "This is my paper on coagulation of saliva after death," was all she could say. "Observant as ever, Miss Hooper", Sherlock mocked her. "Now, would you possibly be so kind…" But he was interrupted by the petite pathologist, "You read my paper!" Her voice was low, but transported all the disbelieve she felt. Sherlock shrugged. "Of course I read your paper. I like knowing who I'm working with." His answer sounded a little too matter-of-factly. Molly cocked her head to one side to get a better look at him. He was still looking down on the table and she realized he was looking anywhere but at her. It was hard for her to believe Sherlock Holmes had read her paper. Why? Could it be possible it was because he was interested in her? No, she had finished the sentence too soon. The correct one needed to be: He was interested in her WORK. That was all. But that was better than nothing, wasn't it?

"But you already knew everything about me. I wrote that paper while you were… you know… gone."  
"I know, things were easier then."  
He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but he did and the words were dripping with venom.

Molly didn't say a word. She just stared at him. Sherlock felt her eyes on him, and because he couldn't stand her silence, he decided to say something cruel to her and just leave. He would find the solution on his own. He didn't need Molly Hooper. But suddenly he felt her small hand on his – just like all those weeks ago in the hospital. Again her touch was warm and gentle and he felt himself calm down. Without his conscious decision his head turned on its own accord and his eyes settled on her face. She stood there with her mouth agape and her look spoke of realization.

Her voice was just as warm and gentle as her hand as she spoke, "That's why you didn't come here." It was not a question, and he didn't deny it. She chuckled and he looked at her incredulously. He found nothing funny in their situation.  
"I didn't mean it like that, silly."  
Sherlock Holmes didn't like at all to be called silly, but the squeeze of her hand told him to hold his tongue and listen to her.  
"Yes, life was easier while you were away, but it was also so boring! Do you drive me nuts sometimes and do I hate you for treating me like crap? Yes. But I meant what I said: I like helping you. It IS my pleasure. And I'm glad you are back, because I missed you."

During her whole explanation she had looked him boldly in the eyes. Now she started to pull her hand away and avert her gaze, but Sherlock would have none of that. He gripped her hand almost desperately. His gaze returned to her paper on the table. His voice was even deeper than usual, "I read all you papers, you know. But the ones you wrote while I was away I read a few times. It was a little bit like talking to you. I felt… connected to you through your work. That gave me solace."

He went perfectly still for a moment, as if he realized just now what he had said. Then he turned back to face her. He wasn't wearing his usual mask of indifference, but a soft expression Molly had only seen once before, when he had told her that she mattered. He lifted his right hand and gently cupped her cheek. Molly involuntarily closed her eyes at the contact, but forced herself to open them again. She felt his breath on her face as he spoke again, "YOU are my solace, Molly Hooper." With that he leaned forward and for a spilt second she thought he'd give her a kiss on the cheek, but suddenly she felt his lips on hers. At first she was too shocked to do anything, but as she felt his other hand squeezing hers, the initial shock wore off and she kissed him back. He was hesitant, but gentle and loving. The hand on her cheek moved into his hair, while the other left her hand. He wrapped it around her waist to draw her closer and deepen the kiss. Molly let one hand rest on his chest while the other found its way in his curls.

After a long time – which felt way too short – both pulled away to catch their breath, their foreheads still touching. Molly felt Sherlocks heart beat wildly in his chest and couldn't help but marvel at the fact that a kiss from her had caused that reaction.

Sherlock was the one to break the silence with a rasping voice, "You wanted to tell me something about coagulation of saliva after death." Molly couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. Only Sherlock Holmes could talk about dead bodies after kissing. She found that she didn't mind at all. So she took a step back and smiled up at him mischievously. "Only if the offer on chips still stands."  
"Sure, but we can't go to the fish shop just off the Marylebone Road."  
Mollys smile dropped. "Why not?"  
Sherlocks smile was a sheepish one. "The shelves have collapsed."


End file.
